


Apple-Flavored Kisses

by RedPaladin465



Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy Agito, Final Fantasy Type-0
Genre: Another Spiral AU, Cater and Eight finally hash it out, DTR, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut, They finally have The Talk, Trapped In A Closet, Wedding Fluff, define the relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 14:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPaladin465/pseuds/RedPaladin465
Summary: Cater loved apples, no matter what form they came in- apple pies, apple juice, applesauce, straight-up apples- so when Ace and Deuce coincidentally had apple-flavored alcohol at their wedding…naturally, the ensuing events were all Nine’s fault.Or, how Eight and Cater finally had their DTR conversation ft. Nine, copious amounts of alcohol, and a closet.





	Apple-Flavored Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Type-0 needs more love, seriously. I'm just going to keep saying that every time I post something for this fandom.
> 
> Hullo :) I am back with a longish oneshot that has NO ANGST IN IT WHATSOEVER. Y'all can thank Tempest_Type0 for this- she wrote a blurp on Ace and Deuce's wedding, then a note about Cater and Eight finally figuring their issues out during said wedding, and charged me with writing it. Somehow, it took me almost 7k words and literally MONTHS of writing and editing to finally get to the point LOL.
> 
> Author's notes, blah blah blah, enjoy the fluff. And the smut. Ish.
> 
> ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Type-0.

In all fairness, Cater didn’t usually drink. Sure, she had partaken in the booze parties when they were still cadets, but she never got drunk. Or smashed. Or hammered. Just pleasantly buzzed, enough for the alcohol to take the edge off her sometimes-brash demeanor. And she did it socially, when there was a _reason_ to drink, but never had excessive drinks.

This, however, was a cause for celebration- Ace and Deuce’s wedding had been a long time coming, especially for a relationship and a love that seemed inevitable even when, even since they were only children. Oh, and also the fact there was apple-flavored alcohol- not quite wine, not quite cider, but it had _apples_ , so who was she to refuse? And honestly, it was…whoever-ordered-it’s fault.

Probably Nine. It was usually Nine’s fault anyway. She wasn’t sure who ordered the alcohol, per se, but _afterwards_ , it was _definitely_ Nine’s fault. And Sice’s, she wasn’t getting out of this one. Also, it wasn’t like Cater was the only one who was affected; Ace and Deuce had evidently inadvertently provided a venue for half the couples in their class to officially get together. Not that Ace and Deuce knew that when they woke up that morning, or when Rem was lacing up Deuce’s gorgeous wedding dress, or when Machina slung an arm around Ace’s shoulders after putting on and adjusting his chocobo-shaped gold cuff links.

Of course, that was barring their complicated childhoods and half of them pairing off even back then anyway, doomed to be stuck with that one other person for life as a soulmate on top of being close-enough siblings with the others.

_For life._

It didn’t mean, however, that it wasn’t a tear-inducing, heart-melting wedding. In fact, it was an absolutely _beautiful_ wedding. The weather was mild and breezy for a summer day, and Ace and Deuce couldn’t have picked a better place. Fitting, really, that it was on that hill right outside of the chocobo ranch, and in full view of the giant windmills, spinning lazily with the light wind. An arch made of polished driftwood draped with a long strip of white chiffon that waved gently in the breeze stood in the front of the ceremony, and guests and friends they had made from all over Orience, including Queen Andoria and the Akatoki Warden Lady Celestia from Concordia, King Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and Atra from Lorica, and Marshal Qator Bashtar all the way from Milites, were in attendance. Deuce gripped Ace’s hands tightly as former Chancellor Khalia Chival VI, their adoptive father, with the help of Class Zero’s ever-present and ever-helpful moogle, Mog, officiated their wedding.

The only thing that made the wedding even better was the fact that it was _Ace_ who had to wipe a tear or two away from his bright blue eyes when Deuce made her way down the aisle. She was a natural beauty, but the long, white strapless lace dress with a soft gossamer overlay, cinched at the waist with a satin ribbon belt and exquisite beading on the bodice accented her beauty in a radiant, glowing way, and as she walked past the rows of guests, her veil floating gently behind her, many were brought to tears (read: Jack and Eight definitely had to furiously rub their eyes in order to watch the rest of the ceremony) while Deuce herself only teared up slightly when she and Ace said their vows. Everything was smooth sailing into the reception.

Unsurprisingly, that’s when _things_ started happening. The reception was set up just behind the guests’ chairs for the ceremony, the dining and dancing area made up of a hardwood dance floor set in the middle of several tables. String lights were strung and spun on narrow wooden poles surrounding the entire area and draped over nearby trees and bushes, making the entire area glow with a cozy, dim light. Rem and Queen had managed to figure out a tricky bit of magic that allowed for tiny balls of light resembling fireflies to flit and fly around, their warm light contributing to the ambience of the atmosphere.

Dinner was incredible and the cake was even better, courtesy of Izana, who happened to be a brilliant closet baker (Emina claimed credit as sous chef alongside Sice, and because she kept Kazusa away from what he had deemed his next scientific experiment). Izana flushed with pride when showered with compliments, but neither he nor his girlfriend stuck around until the end of the reception once Emina, decked out in a beautiful and revealing red dress, leaned over to whisper something into his ear.

In fact, everything went exceedingly well, and none of Queen’s contingency plans had to be put into action. Ace and Deuce, the ever-adoring couple and now newlyweds, were in the center of the dancefloor, cozied up during a slow song along with Rem and Machina and several other couples, including Enra and Aki- that was an interesting story.

Everything was perfect.

‘Well, ‘perfect’ is subjective,’ some (read: Trey) would argue. ‘Perfect’ could mean a whole spectrum of things, and together with the words ‘everything’ and ‘was’ and ‘everything was’, it could be that ‘nothing’ was actually ‘perfect’, and the fact that ‘everything was perfect’ was the most karmic phrase in the whole of Orience, aside from any variation of ‘what could go wrong’ and ‘how hard could it be’, most definitely meant that something bad was about to happen.

And happen it did. Not surprisingly, in the form of Nine.

“Oi! We’re out of booze!” Nine’s voice was heard above the chatter and music that covered the area about two hours into the reception.

Seven turned around from her spot at one of the tables nearby where she was talking to Jack and Kurasame, who decidedly did _not_ dance, to face Nine’s general direction, incredulous. “What do you mean ‘we’re out of booze’?! We ordered ten crates. How…” she trailed off.

She should have known better, really. Seven took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to banish all the sordid possibilities that could arise from the people she knew could easily burn the entirety of Orience if they weren’t careful before opening them again.

_Suzaku help me._

Nine and Sice sat on one side of the table a couple over from her, and Ryid, Naghi, Trey, Cinque, and Cater sat on the other, twelve bottles of assorted wines and liquor between them. Correction: twelve _empty_ bottles between them. Seven narrowed her eyes.

“Incon…inconceivable,” Trey said, slurring slightly. “How is it possible that a man can…drink so much and…feel nothing?”

Next to Seven, Jack stifled his laughter in his hand. “Is Trey really _drunk_?!”

Kurasame didn’t even bother uttering a response. Instead, he leaned farther back into his chair, Tonberry perched next to him, and watched the chaos slowly unfold.

Cinque caught their glances and perked up, happily skipping over to them. She picked up on Jack’s statement just in time, her eyes wide and amused, without even a single ounce of concern. “Cinquey told Trey it didn’t taste good! Then Ryid and Cater-bear and Eighter and Naghi and Trey started playing this game with Nine and Sicey and Cinquey _knows_ they were cheating, and Trey-Trey said something about ‘statistical impossibilities’ of them winning so many times and kept playing, and then poof!” Her hands mimed an explosion. “Kaput.”

At that, Jack gave up all pretense of sympathy, surprise forgotten, as he threw his head back and laughed so hard, he was nearly in tears a minute later. “Oh man, this I gotta see!”

Seven sighed. “Leave him alone, Jack,” she said wearily. Where was Queen when she needed her? Queen’s stability was exactly the thing she needed to keep her sane. Come to think of it, she thought she saw Queen and King at that same table earlier, but looking around the party told her that the pair was nowhere to be found. Before she could dwell too much on that discovery, the lancer’s loud voice shattered her thoughts.

“Seriously yo, can someone get us more booze? The game’s not over yet, hey!” Nine said as he threw an arm over the back of Sice’s chair.

Sice scoffed. “Maybe if you hadn’t decided to hog all of it, we’d still have some left!”

Before Seven could stop him, Jack sauntered over to the table to join in the conversation. “You know, I think we’ve got some more in the smaller pantry in the kitchens!” He grinned over at her even when she held her index finger up and drew it across her throat in a clear threat. She didn’t think there would be any left after bringing most of the alcohol out for the reception, but Queen did the final count for the alcohol cases, so Seven couldn’t be sure. In any case though, putting more alcohol in Nine and Sice’s hands was _not_ a good idea.

Too late. Nine’s expression perked up almost instantly. He had barely opened his mouth when Cater jumped up and almost lost her balance in the process, straightening her posture and giggling. “I can go grab some!”

Jack let out another snort of laughter, and Seven slapped a hand to her face. Cater _never_ giggled. As she watched the younger woman wobble to the Great Portal to teleport back into the Akademia Entrance, she didn’t need Cinque’s soft, “oh _man_ ” next to her to know that things were going to end very, very badly.

* * *

Still giggling long after she disappeared into the Great Portal, Cater didn’t pay enough attention to where she was teleporting until she realized she ended up on the floor above Akademia’s main kitchen pantries. “Uh-ohhhhh,” she said to herself, letting out another little laugh as she twirled her slightly-curled auburn hair around her index finger. “Pantries are downstairs.”

She spied the balcony railing in front of her and grinned, her fuzzy mind whirling as fast as it could. Jumping over balconies was nothing new for her, _and_ she would wind up right in front of that smaller pantry outside of the kitchen, which, according to Nine, was where the remaining booze was. Her mind immediately flicked from blaring CAUTION I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS to JUMP OVER THE RAILING THAT’S A GREAT IDEA SHORRRRRRRTCUUUUUUUUUT!!!!! as the alcohol fully hit her.

At that moment, Cater was grateful for her simple, cream-colored strapless dress, which allowed her arms full range of movement. The loose bubble skirt swished around her legs as she readied herself. Without a second thought, the gunner vaulted over the edge of the balcony, her drunken brain sending her body propelling over the side and hurtling in the general direction of the pantry.

The good news: even intoxicated, Cater had pretty good aim. If she continued her trajectory, she would wind up either just in front of the pantry door, or she would hit the door, and it would break her fall.

The bad news: her apple boozed-up brain did not register the infinitesimal possibility of someone being in the pantry and picking that very moment to walk out of it. Someone who, say, disappeared from their table in the middle of the drinking game before she volunteered to retrieve more alcohol. Someone who had had a _grand old time_ leaning against a table and talking and laughing and, and, and _flirting_ with former Class Seventh cadet, Koharu. Someone who, say, was just short enough that when he opened the door and Cater was falling quite literally headfirst into him from the second floor, she knocked him clean off his feet and back into the pantry, the door swinging shut and locking them into the tiny space.

Let it be established first and foremost that this pantry was the smaller back-up pantry in the event their monster pantry could not hold everything (which it couldn’t), and that it really was no bigger than a closet- about five feet deep and five feet wide. Factoring in the measurements for the shelves and half-forgotten what-have-yous in said pantry- _closet,_ really- there was only enough room for one person to fit between the shelves, and barely deep enough for two people, sandwiched between the door and the back shelf. That meant that to fit behind the door that clicked shut in front of them and _locked them in_ , they were completely squashed and squished against each other, and not in a comfortable way either. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to twist half-fall so that her back hit his chest when they collided, or else they would have bumped heads _really_ hard, and something told her it would have been _very_ awkward if she was squeezed up against him face-to-face after the door closed.

“Ow.”

Somewhere in Cater’s alcohol-induced head, she tried to figure out whether the emotion welling in her chest was leaning more toward rage or embarrassment. She finally let out a strangled groan. “What are _you_ _doing in the pantry_?!”

Eight grunted before he gave her a verbal answer, and Cater, being completely driven by her emotions (definitely leaning more towards embarrassment and annoyance) at that point, shimmied to one side and threw an elbow back at where she guessed was his gut, satisfied by the groan of pain she felt rumble from his chest.

“I was looking for something,” he finally replied. Cater felt him move his left hand to his side, rubbing the spot where she elbowed him. “What are you doing here?”

She rolled her eyes, despite him not being able to see. “Jack said there would be more alcohol in here! We’re out of that apple stuff,” Cater said, almost pouting.

As Eight chuckled behind her, she felt his breath tickle the back of her neck, making shivers run up and down her spine. He was way closer than she initially thought. The arm he had thrown around her waist to catch her as she fell tightened just a little bit, making her want to sink into what felt like an embrace from behind; some rational part of her brain reminded her she wouldn’t have this reaction if she wasn’t drunk. Something in Cater’s stomach tightened, and she felt her breath quicken, felt a flush heat up her cheeks.

Everyone knew that she and Eight had this unspoken, undefined… _thing_ …going on. Like Ace and Deuce, she knew it had been going on even before they were cadets, when they naturally gravitated toward each other, when he waited for her when they were assigned to the same mission and when she was the last to leave the common room, when she walked past an apple on a tree and he climbed up to get it for her despite knowing perfectly well that she could grab her own damn apple. Cater knew Eight at least had _some_ sort of feelings for her…and, for that matter, the thought she had kept compartmentalized for a long time surfaced at that moment, with nowhere for her to hide.

She had feelings for him too.

And it wasn’t a _surprise_ , Cater was almost certain Eight knew the same thing she did even though she had never been forthcoming with her feelings when it came to things like this. That thought made her face just burn hotter, her heart fluttering twice as fast, and _she blamed the alcohol_.

That was, she supposed, until he and _Koharu_ started flirting earlier tonight. The very recent memory was the equivalent of a bucket of ice being dumped on her head, the cold dread and embarrassment and disbelief and anger yanking her back to the present where she wanted to be _anywhere_ but stuck in a tiny closet with this unbelievable boy. Man. Boy-man. She couldn’t decide.

Cater narrowed her eyes in the darkness, a shutter immediately closing off her emotions. “What were you looking for in here?” she asked abruptly, wincing inwardly as she heard the ice in her tone. Evidently, Eight heard it too.

“That ‘apple stuff’ you were talking about,” he replied cautiously, wary and confused by her anger. “I was looking for some when you started complaining in the middle of that drinking game that we had run out.”

She mentally scoffed, her emotions getting the better of her, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Weren’t you busy flirting with Koharu earlier?”

_FUCK YOU, NINE. I’M NEVER DRINKING WITH YOU EVER AGAIN._

The mortification hit her as soon as she processed her words a second later, causing her to groan and bash her head against the figurative wall, all the while cursing Nine to Milites and back. Hold that thought. _DON’T_ come back.

 _Blame the alcohol. Blame the alcohol_.

Between her time as a cadet and now a scoutmaster and field instructor, Cater had learned to tell one type of silence from another. There was the adrenaline-filled silence in a mission where nothing was going right and the only thing that was going to save her life was quick thinking and improvisation; there was the heavy silence of mourning; there was the comfortable silence of a spring day under an apple tree with a blanket spread with some sandwiches and more apples.

Then there was this silence, weighted with anticipation, pressing down on her chest like a boulder. She could swear she could hear the tick of each second go by, Eight so _impossibly_ quiet that she was almost afraid to speak up again. Then again, Cater had never really been afraid of anything.

“Are you okay?” she almost whispered, voice hoarse.

It was another few seconds before Eight spoke, each of his words sending puffs of air against the back of her neck, making her shiver. “I came in here to look for a specific type of alcohol for you because you love apples,” he said slowly, quietly. “Because you have always loved apples. Koharu stopped by to say hi and catch up.”

Cater decided on the spot (again) that she was going to pin everything on the alcohol the next morning when she would undoubtedly wake up hung over, if only to explain the hot flush that burned on her cheeks down to her neck. She would die before admitting out loud that it was embarrassment, embarrassment over the misunderstanding and her obviously ill-placed and ill-timed jealous fit, but the person pressed up against her back, apparently, didn’t get the memo. Instead, he chuckled.

“Were you…were you jealous?” There was a lilt of amusement in his tone when he spoke, causing Cater’s flush to deepen and heat up even more.

“N-no!”

Even _she_ didn’t sound convincing to her own ears. _It’s the alcohol, it’s the alcohol, it’s the alcohol_.

“Cater,” Eight replied, sounding fondly exasperated. “It’s…okay to be jealous. I get it.”

“I’m not!”

“You got all angry and flustered when you asked about Koharu. I know there’s this… _thing_ between us, okay, and we haven’t exactly talked about it, but I just want you to know that I- I could never see another girl the same…same way I see you. I mean, I- I just, you know, when you walked in today with that dress on and your hair done and everything, I- not that you don’t normally look beautiful in even just your training clothes and messy hair, but-”

Did she let out a squeak? She definitely let out a squeak. Was that _Eight_ talking? Was that _Eight_ saying those words to her? Eight wasn’t a romantic. Eight was…Eight. Eight had never confronted her about the change in their relationship as they got older, never demanded more, never talked to her about his feelings or her feelings, but this, _this_ he just smashed through all the walls that Cater thought they had put around their relationship to put words to the feelings that had been there for a long time. Even if he was awkwardly stammering about said feelings.

“I-I…you…we…” Cater opened and closed her mouth, but she couldn’t find it in herself to form a coherent sentence, still reeling from everything that was happening. She stopped and cleared her throat. _Blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on the alcohol._ “Me too,” she finally managed to say before mentally smacking herself. What the hell kind of response was _that_?

It really was a misunderstanding. He came in here because he wanted to get her something she wanted, something she really liked, and was currently, definitely holding her from behind, with one arm wrapped around her waist. His muscular figure, cut and formed over the decades of intense martial arts training, was so close to her that she was sure she could feel every one of the lean lines that made up his body. Her stomach swooped, not in an uncomfortable way, her knees felt a little weak, and her hands started trembling from the charged atmosphere she felt between them.

Feeling Eight’s soft breaths against her neck didn’t help, so she blindly fumbled for the light switch against the wall in an effort to distract herself.

“It’s so dark in here,” she said, changing the subject so quickly she nearly gave herself a figurative whiplash. Her voice sounded slightly hoarse and desperate, even to her own ears. “Need to turn that light on!”

It had almost taken on a shrill quality, she knew, and knew that Eight could hear the shift in her tone as well. Cater tried to feel for the switch, but for some reason it just wasn’t where she thought it’d be, and each movement just seemed to bring her and Eight closer, if that was even possible, given the extremely cramped space. Before she could move another muscle, he suddenly reached out with the hand that wasn’t resting on her stomach and gripped her arm.

“Cater,” he said in a quiet sort of way she had never heard him use before. “Don’t move.”

She frowned, squirming to reach past him to see if she could reach the light switch. “Let me just-”

“ _Cater_. _Don’t_. _Move_.” Eight repeated, voice dangerously low.

Sobriety was slowly washing back over her after registering the intensity in his tone, and Cater opened her mouth to ask why before the answer came to her in the form of something firm pressing against her lower back, right where she knew Eight...her cheeks burned so hotly she was certain they were glowing red in the darkness; the heat rushed from her face down her neck and all the way to her stomach, clenched so tightly she swore she could pass out.

“Oh,” she managed to squeak. She _never_ squeaked, and she had already done so three times in the time span of what felt like two minutes; she was at a _complete loss_ as to what to do. “Would it- would it-” Cater cleared her throat, desperately trying to figure out how to help, but the alcohol was fogging up her brain- and maybe that was an excuse; the heavy atmosphere weighed on her chest, making it extremely difficult to breathe. “What if I turned around, would that-”

Before Eight could respond, she shimmied as best she could, turning around to face him in the tight space. She felt the arm that wasn’t wrapped around her waist move to her left, his hand grasping the shelf in a tight grip, the shelf wood creaking just as he let out a strangled groan.

“Is that better?” Cater asked, a little breathless. Now that they were face-to-face, she realized how closely pressed together they truly were. Their two inches of height difference meant that as they faced each other in the darkness, they could feel each and every breath the other one took. His mouth was so close to hers that she felt her stomach clench yet again, her knees starting to quiver.

There was a moment before Eight took in a deep, shaky breath that drew their bodies closer together than before, and Cater had to bite her lip to keep herself anchored in the moment. “Sorry,” he whispered quietly. “It’s not- I-”

Without even being able to see him, she could feel his soft breaths fanning over her face, her cheeks, as he leaned closer to her. They were so close to each other that each miniscule movement of their bodies was evident to the other, and Cater could feel that her moving to face him and definitely _not_ helped. If anything, Eight felt firmer than before, that realization making her throat go dry.

“I…” he breathed. “I know we don’t…we haven’t…but I really…really want to kiss you right now.”

Soft breaths filled the space between the two, the few agonizing moments where Cater was shocked into silence stretching on for what seemed like forever.

_Yes- please- it’s okay to- IN FACT, PLEASE-_

She couldn’t get out any of those words that were _bursting_ inside of her. Instead, she gave into her impulses and surged forward to push their lips together.

It wasn’t gentle. Their close proximity in total darkness didn’t help their heightened senses and emotions; Cater nearly hit Eight’s nose when she went in for the kiss, and when their lips mashed together, it was messy, clumsy, full of teeth and they were _everywhere_ , but as Cater pulled back slightly to breathe, he just pulled her in again. It was like someone had lit a match between them, the tension and the heat between them reaching almost unbearable heights, drawing them together with a primal sort of need; it felt like everything in her _shattered_ only to wrap around Eight so tightly she felt like she could barely breathe. She could feel his arms around her waist, holding her even closer than before, holding her up against him where she could feel every inch of him pressed against her.

Eight pulled away from her with superhuman strength, mustering all of his self-control. “Cater- I-” his voice was so low and husky with need.

“I know,” Cater whispered back, her lips burning and her heart freefalling, knowing that this was the edge of the precipice. There would be no going back to dancing around each other after this, no continued denial of their relationship, even though getting it on in a closet technically didn’t count as an official Talk™ defining their relationship. But after so many years, after so long, after all they had been through, what else could she have said to him?

Eight’s hand left her hips and trailed up her arm to her bare shoulder, igniting a fire everywhere he touched. His fingertips brushed against her neck on his way up to her jaw, pulling her lips back to his once more. It wasn’t an untamable wildfire this time; it was slower, tension beginning to build once again in the most agonizing and breathtaking way as he explored her lips, her mouth. Cater’s arms wound tight around his neck, her hands gently grasping and tugging at his hair, eliciting small grunts that rumbled from deep inside his chest that made her want more, want to discover how to draw the sounds from him.

It wasn’t until Eight’s hips suddenly thrust forward, pressing himself fully against her for that one moment, that Cater stopped returning his kisses, their mouths separating as she gasped at the sensation. Eight let out a low groan before experimentally rolling his hips again, grinding against her. This time, Cater’s forehead fell against the crook of his neck. She quietly moaned, feeling her knees weaken and the heat low in her belly being coaxed into a roaring fire when he pushed against her, slowly, again and again. Her right hand ran down his arm to grab the hand he had placed against her waist.

“Sorry,” Eight murmured, not sounding half as apologetic as he tried to be. “Was that too much?”

If she were sober and not so worked up, Cater would have snorted at the question. Instead, having resigned herself to acting on her feelings and the incredible sensations her body felt, she leaned up and whispered into his ear. “It’s not enough.”

She could have sworn she heard him audibly gulp, but her attention was fixed on the pressure forming in between the two of them, the pressure inside her belly and the one that was blatantly in between her legs, and she pulled the hand she was holding behind her, putting it to rest on the bottom of her ass.

Eight nearly jerked back in surprise. “Mmmph- Cater- are you-”

Cater nearly whined at the lack of contact. “ _Yes_ , I’m sure,” she insisted, pressing back against his hands.

It was only a split second, a half breath later that he snapped back to his senses, his hands grabbing at her and pushing their hips together. He let out a throaty groan, the friction keeping him grinding for more as she gasped, moaning each time at the contact. They gave up all attempts at control, Eight’s fingers creeping down from her ass to her thighs, slowly sliding his hands up her skirt. Cater almost giggled, pushing herself as close as she could to him in encouragement, feeling his hands circling the back of her bare thighs and upwards to where she suddenly found herself _really_ wanting his hands to be.

“Higher,” she insisted, momentarily breaking away from the frantic kisses, only to dive back in after giving her command. Eight chuckled against her mouth, putting more pressure on his trail up her thighs, the tips of his fingers barely reaching the lace of her panties. He could feel the strain in his pants, the pulsing need that signaled the beginning of his need for release as he ground against her core.

Something pushed through his senses, demanding his attention even as he felt completely scattered, completely wound around Cater so much so that he couldn’t feel where he ended and where she began. It pushed and pushed at his conscience, his instincts telling him to be at attention, to be alert in the face of the impending danger that he could feel was getting closer and closer, but there was nothing he could do to pull himself away from the woman in his arms.

So, in a way, what happened next was Eight’s fault.

Voices and footsteps far too muffled for the otherwise-preoccupied couple in the pantry to pay attention to stopped right in front of the door. “What do you mean you don’t know where they are?!” someone demanded. “They could be anywhere! Cater’s dead drunk, and who _knows_ where Eight is, and-”

“Seven, will you relax, yo? Cater said she was getting more booze! She should be in here, hey!” a gruff voice replied.

“Well, she’s not in _here_ ,” another male responded from a little farther away. “Check the smaller pantry? Maybe she got stuck in there?”

“Cater?” another woman called, her voice completely failing to reach the ears of the person she was looking for. “Are you in here?”

The pantry door suddenly unlocked with a click and swung open, light pouring into the pitch-black darkness.

“ _WHOA_!”

Eight and Cater immediately froze like deer in headlights. Their heads whipped toward the open door just a fraction slower, their instincts dulled both by passion and alcohol. Far, _far_ too late did they retract their hands and arms from each other, their backs slamming into the shelves behind them as everything else in them protested at their separation, their eyes adjusting to the sudden influx of light and focusing on Seven, Nine, Jack, and Sice in front of the pantry door.

The two of them stared at the four standing outside for a long moment, no one daring to break the terse silence until Jack suddenly cleared his throat, a smile sliding onto his stunned face.

“Well,” he began. “We certainly didn’t see _that_ coming.”

He opened his mouth to say something else before Cater suddenly shot her hand out to stop him, her notably, incredibly red face staring down at her feet. No one spoke, waiting to see how the moment would resolve as the flustered and incredibly embarrassed gunner bit the bottom of her _very_ swollen lip, her gaze traveling up to see Eight and the painfully obvious bulge in his pants, and, to her mortification, the wet patch right in front, causing her to squeeze her thighs closer together.

Eight’s wide eyes almost burned holes into hers when their eyes met, rekindling the embers of what had been an inferno just moments before. The fire in her belly and between her legs started up again, a dull flame that Cater knew would start burning, and that sealed her decision. Without a single word, her hand shot out to grab his, pulling him from the pantry and past their snickering classmates- she made a mental, somewhat-woozy note to strangle Nine later- toward the Great Portal and immediately triggered the phantoma link that teleported them straight to Class Zero’s living quarters.

Everyone was still either in Akademia’s main kitchen or at the reception, which meant that the entirety of their enormous living area was empty, a fact that both of them latched onto as Eight nearly kicked the door down when Cater struggled to get the door open. She managed to open it not a moment too soon; as soon as they were both inside, the heavy wood swinging shut behind them, her back hit the wall right next to the door, and she found herself staring into Eight’s burning eyes, his face only centimeters from her. Ever so slowly, he lowered his head at the same time as Cater lifted hers so that their lips could meet once again; softer, gentler than everything that had transpired in that pantry, almost experimental in the way that they slowly moved together. There was a tenderness that hadn’t been there before, a calm before the storm.

They took their time this time, waiting for the calm fire to burst aflame. It really didn’t take long- Eight’s lips trailed from Cater’s down her jaw to her neck, finding her pulse and placing a kiss there, making her shudder. She felt a grin on his lips against her skin, then gasped as he gently nipped at the spot, catching her skin between his teeth and sucked at the same time his right hand ran up her side to her breast, his thumb brushing right over her nipple. Her knees buckled, unable to hold her weight, and he caught her effortlessly, pulling her close to him once again until she felt all the lean lines, the hard muscles of his body against hers. Eight released the skin on her neck then, leaving kisses farther and farther down until he nuzzled the top of her breasts through her dress.

“Not here,” Cater managed to gasp, gathering all of her self-restraint and pulled away from him, grabbing his hand once again and leading him into her room. She locked the door and thanked every star she could name (not many) for the soundproofed walls, and barely had a second to kick off her shoes before Eight pulled her to him once again, her back to his chest.

“Where were we?” he murmured into her ear, his breath hot and tone husky and making that one spot between her legs burn with anticipation.

Cater turned around, a mischievous smile on her face as she pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders and threw it to the floor.

* * *

It was all Sice and Nine’s fault, really. Eight and Cater absolutely _refused_ to take the blame for it, no matter what Queen said when she finally woke up the next morning, hung over and walking (wobbling) out of her suite just in front of King, whose ruffled mullet looked even more rumpled than his suit from the day before. Trey was still passed out on the floor in the living room, tie and jacket mostly intact, while Cinque slept soundly on the couch above him, snuggled up in her mint green nightgown and favorite blanket. Evidently, she decided to just spend the night in the living room, presumably to make sure Trey didn’t die from accidental alcohol poisoning.

Jack, Seven, Ace, and Deuce were the only ones up making breakfast, the smell of eggs and pancakes and behemoth bacon drawing everyone out of their liquor-induced slumber.

The magicite gunner and martial artist sat at the table, dark circles underneath their eyes and steaming mugs of coffee set in front of them as Queen and King approached the table. Cater was not above throwing down her hangover card and pounding headache as an excuse to ignore them, but Queen cleared her throat.

“Had a good night then?” She asked, trying her best to look as put-together as she could, despite the hour and the slight wobble of her knees.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Cater muttered, sparing her a glance and then gazed back at her cup of black coffee. She didn’t even _like_ black coffee.

Nine and Sice emerged from Sice’s suite, the only ones aside from the four in the kitchen to look completely normal. “Did we miss out on anything?” Sice asked, yawning as they walked over to King and Queen. Her shirt rode up as she stretched, and Nine took the opportunity to slide an arm around her waist, hand brushing against her flat stomach as Cater groaned at the display.

“No more PDA,” Eight said firmly, leaning back in his chair and throwing his arm over his eyes. Nine snorted, temporarily taking his attention off Sice.

“Yo, Eight, that’s not what you were preaching last night!” He said back, Jack laughing from the kitchen where he could _definitely_ listen in to the conversation. “Neither was Machina, hey,” he continued as an afterthought. Sice snickered as she looked toward Rem’s room.

Cater groaned again, but looked up to sling a glare his way. “Shut up, Nine.”

“Leave them alone,” Queen scolded, breaking into the conversation. “Eight and Cater are still at this new stage in their relationship, and-”

And both Eight and Cater had to stop listening, because the last thing they wanted that morning was a _relationship talk from an obviously sated Queen at gods-awful hours of the morning_.

“I just want to say that, for the record,” Eight murmured, quiet enough for only Cater to hear. “It was not my fault that _someone_ got us locked in the pantry in the first place and started this enormous chain reaction.”

She glared at him from the corner of her eye. “Last I remember, you were definitely not complaining about it.”

“Breakfast!” Deuce called cheerfully as she, Ace, Seven, and Jack brought out plates of fruit, steaming eggs, sausages, bacon, and pancakes. The food was carefully set down on the table, the flutist grabbing an apple and placing it in front of Cater. Nine narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze flickering between Ace and Deuce who were far too awake too early for any newlywedded couple. Ace, feeling eyes tracking his movements, stopped and looked straight back at him, taking only a split second to figure out what was going on in the lancer’s head.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Nine,” he said, tone dry. “It was a tiring day yesterday. _Normal_ people went to sleep right afterwards.”

Nine let out a bark of laughter, a teasing glint in his eye. Sice raised an eyebrow. “Normal, huh?” she replied mildly, looking back and forth between Queen and Cater, amusement evident in her expression.

Eight pushed his chair back, completely done with the conversation. Next to him, Cater spared a glance at the apple Deuce set in front of her, and sighed. Maybe she’d throw it at Nine after breakfast. Her stupid hangover was his stupid fault. Most things were his fault anyway.

Maybe she’d thank him someday for kind of being involved in the circumstances that prompted her and Eight to finally, officially cross the line in their relationship. She thought about Eight’s hands running up her legs, her stomach, her neck, and everywhere in between only a few hours before, an almost lazy smile appearing on her lips before she stopped herself. It only took one more look at Nine’s smug grin before she made up her mind and chucked the apple right at his head.


End file.
